Anna Leonard - The Night Serpent

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Cover Page

Title Page The Night Serpent Anna Leonard www.millsandboon.co.uk

About The Author Anna Leonard is the nom de paranormal for fantasy/horror writer Laura Anne Gilman, who grew up wondering why none of the characters in her favourite gothic novels ever seemed to know a damn thing about ghosts, vampires or how to run in high heels. She is delighted that the newest generation of heroines has a much better grasp on things. “Anna” lives in New York City, where either nothing or everything is paranormal… She can be reached via http://www.sff.net/people/lauraanne.gilman/ or http://cosanostradamus.blogspot. com/.

Dedication For KRAD and TO May your life together be filled with love, joy, satisfaction and success.

Prologue Eight times before she had traveled this dream-road; traveled, and been lost. Eight times before, the same sensations haunted her sleep. The feel of the sun’s intense heat between her shoulder blades, the heavy slip of linen across her shoulders, the sweat of fear down her neck. The sound of scorn in his voice as he cast her aside. Most of all, the low vibrating purr, the gentle rumble that chilled her, made her eyes scrunch closed and pray to a vengeful goddess that mercy would at last be granted her…. And the Voice, echoing forever in dream-memory. “As you destroyed, so must you repair. Until then, child-of-mine-no-longer, walk these sands as one forgotten, never to be judged worthy, never to rest—” “Mother, please…” She wasn’t sure what she was asking for. Forgiveness? Absolution? A chance to explain, to make an excuse? No matter. It did not matter. It never mattered. Eight times she bowed her head to the inevitable, knowing there was no excuse she could make, and no explanation she might offer that would wash the blood from her hands. Her birth and position would save her from public humiliation and shame, but inside, in her ka, she would always know. Always remember. “Mother, I am sorry. My children, I am so very sorry….” A soft touch against her skin, fur stroking skin. She flinched from the comfort, welcoming the pain that followed. Agony, the sharp downward stroke of betrayal, over and over and over again. Then…darkness. When she woke, she would remember none of it. She would forget. Eight times, she always forgot. This was nine.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Copyright

Anna Leonardis the nom de paranormal for fantasy/horror writer Laura Anne Gilman, who grew up wondering why none of the characters in her favourite gothic novels ever seemed to know a damn thing about ghosts, vampires or how to run in high heels. She is delighted that the newest generation of heroines has a much better grasp on things. “Anna” lives in New York City, where either nothing or everything is paranormal…

She can be reached via http://www.sff.net/people/lauraanne.gilman/ or http://cosanostradamus.blogspot. com/.

For KRAD and TO

May your life together be filled with love,

joy, satisfaction and success.

Eight times before she had traveled this dream-road; traveled, and been lost. Eight times before, the same sensations haunted her sleep. The feel of the sun’s intense heat between her shoulder blades, the heavy slip of linen across her shoulders, the sweat of fear down her neck. The sound of scorn in his voice as he cast her aside. Most of all, the low vibrating purr, the gentle rumble that chilled her, made her eyes scrunch closed and pray to a vengeful goddess that mercy would at last be granted her….

And the Voice, echoing forever in dream-memory. “As you destroyed, so must you repair. Until then, child-of-mine-no-longer, walk these sands as one forgotten, never to be judged worthy, never to rest—”

“Mother, please…” She wasn’t sure what she was asking for. Forgiveness? Absolution? A chance to explain, to make an excuse?

No matter. It did not matter. It never mattered.

Eight times she bowed her head to the inevitable, knowing there was no excuse she could make, and no explanation she might offer that would wash the blood from her hands. Her birth and position would save her from public humiliation and shame, but inside, in her ka, she would always know. Always remember.

“Mother, I am sorry. My children, I am so very sorry….”

A soft touch against her skin, fur stroking skin. She flinched from the comfort, welcoming the pain that followed. Agony, the sharp downward stroke of betrayal, over and over and over again. Then…darkness.

When she woke, she would remember none of it. She would forget.

Eight times, she always forgot.

This was nine.

Lily Malkin undid the barrette holding her hair out of her face. The thick black curls slid past her shoulders, and she reached up to run her fingers against her scalp, feeling herself relax. The headache that had haunted her all morning, residue from her usual insomnia, eased a little more.

“Mrrrup?” A tiny paw batted against her knee, demanding attention, and the chance to claw those curls.

“Hello, Rai.” Lily scooped the tiny silver tabby up in one hand, easily keeping the needle-tiny claws away from her hair. The kitten complained, and she soothed it by stroking the soft head until the outraged expression was replaced by heavy lids and a gentle purr.

Lily could almost feel her own eyelids lowering in response. Kitty nap-vibes, the other shelter volunteers called it: the sincere conviction that everything in the world could be made better by stopping to nap in the sun. Oh, if only that were true. She raised the kitten higher and touched her nose to the little pink one. “There you go. Life’s not so bad. And it will only get better for you now, I promise.”

The kitten, secure in her grip, kneaded its claws sleepily against her skin, but didn’t otherwise respond. Lily only wished that her problems were that easily solved. Never a particularly good sleeper, she had been averaging less than four hours a night for the past month, and it was taking its toll.

Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change ready. The old joke was even less funny now than it had been in college, she thought. At least then, she had exams and a social life to blame for her exhaustion. Now…Now there were only dreams that she couldn’t remember, and a sense hanging over her that there was something, somewhere, she needed to do. Something important.

The sad truth of the matter was that there wasn’t anything really important in her life. Not in the way that niggling dream was telling her.

Maybe it was time to go back to therapy. Or visit a psychic. Or start taking sleeping pills. Something.